Geoffrey thought that he could withstand the sweet torment of holding Elizabeth so near and giving her the pleasure he wished her to have, but found that it was not enough. He held her tightly against him until her breathing slowed and the trembling had stopped, and then stood back from her. Without a word, he began to take his clothes off, wilting her with his gaze to do the same.
She was quicker than he, standing proud though shy before him, her clothes at her feet.
Geoffrey took his time looking at her, his passion warm and full of promise. Elizabeth 's breasts were heavy with need, the nipples erect and waiting, straining for his touch.
His control amazed her. She watched him place his tunic upon the ground and turn back to her, and was almost overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of his body. He seemed the Viking god her grandfather had told her stories of, she thought, for he was surely as magnificent in build. And he belongs to me, she thought with wonder, just as I belong to him.
Geoffrey's hand reached out for her and Elizabeth rushed into his embrace. He seemed content to hold her against him, rubbing his hands down her back with a sigh of pleasure, as he inhaled the sweet scent.
He knelt down beside his tunic and pulled her down beside him, resting her on her back before stretching out beside her. His movements were slow and almost lazy now as he trailed the tip of his finger over one breast and then the other.
Elizabeth pulled his head down and kissed him passionately on the lips, willing him to lose his control. "God's truth, Elizabeth, you make my blood boil with my need for you," Geoffrey whispered.
"It is the same for me, Geoffrey," Elizabeth admitted, blushing. "I fear you think me wanton," she added. She parted her legs and tried to pull him on top of her, but Geoffrey held back.
"Not yet," he whispered as his mouth traveled to her breasts. His tongue began to stroke first one and then the other, always close to the nipples but never touching. He was driving her crazy with his tender torture and she found herself pulling at his hair to stop him. She heard his soft laughter and then his mouth gave her what she wanted, what she silently begged for, as he touched the nipple with his tongue and then took it into his mouth.
Elizabeth sighed her pleasure, let the exotic feeling surge through her body, content.
Her limbs felt blissfully lethargic. Geoffrey leaned up and stared into her eyes, knew that he pleasured her and determined, before he took his fill, to show her more of this new sexual world he had introduced her to.
The need to taste her drove him on. His mouth trailed light, feathery kisses in a circle, around her navel and then slowly moved downward. He found the heat, the wetness he had caused, hidden by the triangle of blond curls, and began to make love to her with his mouth, his searching tongue.
Elizabeth was shocked by the initial touch, did not know that man and woman worshiped each other in such a way, and began to protest. The words died in her throat, washed away by the waves of pleasure her husband caused. She clutched at his shoulders, straining against him as she fought the tension she felt building inside. "Geoffrey!" It was a demand, softened by her gasp.
Her husband knew what she wanted, what she needed to find her release, but held back, keeping her on the brink of the summit until he was sure she was completely out of control. Her throaty moans and the motion of her hips against him told him that it was time. He lifted his head and looked into her passion-glazed eyes as he thrust his fingers inside the velvet heat just once. Elizabeth 's entire body arched in splendor. She shook with the force of her climax and then felt herself floating in a sea of colors, all exploding and blending and finally fading.
She opened her eyes to see her husband smiling with arrogant satisfaction.
"You think me terrible?" she whispered with embarrassment.
"I think you beautiful," Geoffrey answered. His voice shook and Elizabeth felt a rush of gratitude for the control he had exercised.
And now it was his turn, she decided. She wasn't sure what she was to do but continued to look directly into his dark gaze as she said, "And does the wife touch her husband in the same way?"
"Aye," Geoffrey replied in a low growl.
"Like this?" Elizabeth asked, taking hold of his hand. She slowly touched one of his fingers with the tip of her tongue and then slipped the whole of it into her mouth and began to suckle it.
Geoffrey's control snapped. His growl of pleasure was her only warning before he covered her with his body and thrust into her. His mouth captured her moans as he continued to plunder her body and her soul, pushing harder and harder.
Elizabeth wrapped her legs around his powerful thighs and rode with him on the journey toward fulfillment yet again. He was the warrior now, intent on his victory, but Elizabeth was there with him, sharing in his ultimate conquest.
"My gentle warrior," she whispered when the storm was ended and the sun was again allowed to shine.
Geoffrey heard her and smiled. He rolled to his side with a contented sigh and said, "You are wrong, wife. I think perhaps you are my gentle warrior, with your dagger at your side and another hidden beneath your skirts; aye, you would be a warrior if you could, but you have set yourself an impossible task, for you will never be able to shed your gentleness."
He kissed her temple after his speech, saw that his words had affected her, for her eyes were filled with tears, and felt most content. He was finding it easier and easier to tell her what was inside him, and admitted that he felt no foolishness with his confessions.
"This lion grows hungry," he yelled with mock fierceness, slapping her soundly on her hip.
"This lion is always hungry," Elizabeth laughed, rubbing her hip. She stood when he did and only had to hug him twice while they dressed.
"It is most difficult for you to keep your hands off me," Geoffrey said with extreme smugness in his voice. "Do not pretend such outrage," he added with a chuckle when she tried to glare at him. "I will have to get used to this clinging nature of yours, I imagine," he added with a feigned sigh.
"And is that so terrible, husband?" Elizabeth asked. She picked up the rabbits and turned away from him, looking for a spot to set the fire.
"No, only foreign, that is all," Geoffrey answered. "I will skin the game while you gather twigs for the fire," he announced.
Elizabeth nodded and threw the rabbits to him.
"Why is it so foreign?" she asked. She made a basket out of the hem of her skirt and began to fill it with bits of branches as she talked.
"What?" Geoffrey asked. He was squatting on the ground, a small hunting knife in his hand, and glanced up to look at her. He smiled when he saw that she was barefoot still and thought that she looked like an enchanting wood nymph.
"This showing of affection, Geoffrey… there was none between your parents?"
Geoffrey was surprised by her question, but lost his train of thought as he appreciated the enticing curve of her ankles. "Put your shoes on before you hurt yourself."
"After you answer my question," she replied in a saucy voice. She saw that he continued to stare at her legs and smiled. "I like to go barefoot."
"They died before I had much memory of them," Geoffrey answered. "Now put your shoes on or I will do it for you."
Elizabeth dropped the hem of her dress and the twigs fell beside Geoffrey. She spotted one shoe by the base of the tree but couldn't locate the other. "Then who saw you raised?" she asked as she knelt and burrowed under a thorny bush. The tip of her dark boot was visible and she had to flatten herself on the ground to wiggle close enough to reach it. It wasn't a very dignified position, but necessary. And Geoffrey observed the whole scene.